The Twelve Days of Christmas
by esteed
Summary: Finally updated!!! Yay! No more writer's block!!!
1. Default Chapter

The young woman raced through the back alleys, terror on her face. She heard footsteps pounding after her, and turned to look behind herself. Unfortunately, her foot hit a cardboard box, and she fell forward, twisting her ankle in the process. A shadow fell over her. She looked up, her hazel eyes filled with tears.  
  
"No," she whispered. "Please." Click. A sudden whirring sound was heard, and time seemed to pass rapidly. The woman's bright auburn hair faded and turned white. Her smooth creamy skin broke out in liver spots, and then wrinkles started sprouting. Her teeth fell out, then her hair. Her skin rotted off.The whirring stopped. All that was left of the woman was a pile of bones. A hand, covered with a black leather glove patted a small container which glowed bright white, and was located in a gun of sorts.  
  
"Good job, my precious," a man's raspy voice whispered. "Good job."  
  
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Mrs. Peel walked gaily down the street. Christmas music filled the air. The stores were decorated with lights and greenery, and Mrs. Peel had just finished her Christmas shopping. Well, almost. She just needed one more present. For Steed. She smiled. His favorite store, Bowlers and Broll.ys was on this street. Maybe she'd see if they had anything new.  
  
The bells on the door jingled as Mrs. Peel opened it and walked into the store. Almost immediately, a huge stack of boxes caught her eye. On top was a sign that proclaimed, "Just in, the Latest in Bowler Style!" Intrigued, Mrs. Peel walked over, and opened a box. There was only a blank piece of paper inside. Curious, she reached inside and turned it over. MRS. PEEL, the note read.  
  
Steed stepped out from behind the stack of boxes. "We're needed," he completed smiling jovially at her. "Were you, uh, here to pick something for me up," he questioned, slipping an arm about her waist.  
  
Mrs. Peel gingerly lifted his hand away. "People who are nosy before Christmas," she began, "will get nothing but coal for Christmas." And she walked out of the store. Steed watched her go, smiling. 


	2. The Second Day of Christmas

What is it this time," Mrs. Peel sighed. She had been tricked into taking a lift in Steed's Bentley, by the debonair Steed. "Well, there's been a murder," Steed explained. "Only one? Aren't we usually called in when there is a series of strange happenings," Mrs. Peel questioned irritatedley. If it weren't for this case, then she would be able to find a present for Steed, the hardest man to buy a gift for. "This one is a bit.unusual," Steed explained. Mrs. Peel arched one eyebrow, as if she didn't believe him. "I'll show you." He pulled over, off the road, into a small alley. "This is the crime scene." He jumped out of the car, helped Mrs. Peel out, and then went over to a small bundle by the side of the back street. He lifted up the coat with the tip of his brolly, revealing a pile of bones and clothing. "How long has she been dead," Mrs. Peel questioned. "Mrs. Peel, you amaze me! How did you know that the victim was a she?" "Very simple," she answered dryly. "The victim is wearing a skirt, and carrying a purse. Now answer my question, please." "That's where the variation occurs." "Variation?" "The medical examiner says that the woman must have been dead for at least twenty years. However, no one who disappeared twenty years ago would have been wearing these fashions, nor would they have been able to decompose in this alley, without someone noticing the foul stench." "So," Mrs. Peel prodded. "When did this murder occur?" "Yesterday," Steed replied. "Steed, that's impossible," Mrs. Peel replied. "A body can't just decompose entirely in twenty-four hours, especially not when it's this cold." Steed smiled wryly. "Now you know why we have been called in." 


	3. The Second Day of Christmas continued

Steed handed Mrs. Peel a manila folder. "According to the identification found on the victim, she was one Maura Kipling."  
  
"Where did she work? Did she have any enemies? Could anyone have wanted her dead?" Mrs. Peel shot off the questions in a rapid fire manner.  
  
"Ms. Kipling was nineteen. She was a student at the University of Oxford, and was home visiting her parents for the holidays. She worked part-time at the Cool Beans Coffee Shop, two blocks away from her dorm. Not exactly where one would meet mortal enemies," Steed answered cooly. "Her parents say that she had no enemies, everyone loved her, and she was the most popular girl in her class."  
  
"No enemies, the most popular girl in her class," Mrs. Peel murmured the facts to herself. "Could it have been,"  
  
"A killing by chance," Steed completed the sentence. "It doesn't appear to be. If it was a killing of chance, how could her body have decomposed so quickly? Acid?"  
  
"No," Mrs. Peel quickly eliminated that choice. "Her clothes were in perfect condition. If acid had been used, there would have been acid on the clothing too."  
  
"Well," Steed was baffled, "I'm baffled. I'll go talk to the girl's family. And you,"  
  
"Will go research and see if there is any way to scientifically explain this," Mrs. Peel completed, striding purposefully out the door of Steed's flat.  
  
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A young teenage boy of around fourteen or fifteen raced down the street, alarm distorting the features on his normally handsome face. His bright green eyes were wide in his head, his chocolate brown hair drenched with sweat. He turned down a small back street, and paused, leaning against the brick wall. He smiled. He'd lost the weird person who had been following him. He turned to run down the street he had just entered, and ran right into a person. The boy lost his balance, and fell back, onto the cold, hard pavement. A whirring sound started. Once again, time seemed to pass rapidly. The boy's face sprouted pimples, and he grew several inches in the space of seconds. His hair got thinner, and he began to bald. Wrinkles sprouted before the remaining bits of his hair fell out. His teeth followed, yellow and chipped. His eyes, once bright, were dull and losing the light of life. His skin flaked off.  
  
"Pity," a cold voice came from the person holding the aging gun. "He had such potential." He laughed.  
  
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Mrs. Peel was driving her blue Lotus down the crowded London roads. Beside her was a manila folder full of research. She had researched in every medical book the library had. But to no avail. The books had had no information about how a body could decompose so quickly. That is, unless they lived in a tropical climate, which England certainly was not. Instead, Mrs. Peel had researched the process of decomposition. Brring! Her cell phone gaily rang.  
  
She picked up the sleek silver phone, and pressed a red button. "Hello," she answered.  
  
"Mrs. Peel," it was Steed. "You're never going to believe this, but,"  
  
"There's been another murder, with the same bizarre happenings as the first one," Mrs. Peel guessed.  
  
Steed paused. How did she do it? Oh well."Meet me at," he rambled off an address. "And soon," he managed to get in, before Mrs. Peel hung up. 


	4. The Third Day of Christmas

Mrs. Peel pulled up at the address Steed had given her in their brief conversation. He stood waiting patiently beside the side of the road, holding his brolly in one hand, and wearing his favorite gray bowler. His face was grim. Mrs. Peel stopped the car, and got out.  
  
"Well," she questioned.  
  
"This time, it was a young boy," Steed answered. "His identity was discovered through the school id he carried in his wallet." He motioned for Mrs. Peel to follow him, and led her to a side street, where the skeleton of an adolescent male, still in his clothes, lay against the side of a building. Mrs. Peel shuddered.  
  
"Who could have done such a horrible thing," she murmured to herself. She shook herself, trying to rid her mind of the awful picture. "I finished my research," she turned away from the corpse.  
  
"And," Steed prompted gently.  
  
"There is no known medical reason why these people are decomposing so quickly. And what makes it even stranger, is that the body of the young woman found yesterday, although she was only nineteen, showed several signs of age, which would only be found on someone who was at least sixty. Among the signs were severe osteoperosis in her legs.  
  
Steed's eyes widened. "Then what happened to these people?"  
  
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A young girl of five or six was playing jump rope on the sidewalk in front of her pale yellow colonial house. Her blonde pigtails swung up and down each time she jumped into the air. A man in a black leather trenchcoat walked up to her.  
  
"Hello," he said, with a smile, "What's you're name?"  
  
"My mummy told me not to talk to strangers," the child said, putting out her bottom lip.  
  
"Well, if you tell me your name, and I tell you mine, then we're not really strangers, are we?"  
  
The man's logic won the girl out, she smiled brightly, "I'm Susanna, my friends call me Susie."  
  
"Hello, Susie," the stranger replied. "My name's Dr. Mitchum, but you can call me Mitch. How would you like to see a toy?"  
  
Susie's eyes widened with awe and delight. "Where is it," she asked nervously.  
  
"Just over there," the man pointed toward a small dumpster.  
  
"Okay," Susie dropped her jump rope and took the man's hand, as he led her toward the dumpster, making sure that no one was watching.  
  
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	5. The Third Day of Christmas, cont

Brring! Steed's car phone rang. Mrs. Peel raised her eyebrow. "When did you get a car phone," she asked, suspiciously.  
  
"Week before last," he answered flippantly. "Had to keep up with you." He flashed a charmingly handsome smile, and jumped into his Bentley. Mrs. Peel did the same. Now it was Steed's turn to raise an eyebrow. Mrs. Peel smiled back at him.  
  
"What was the call about," she questioned, averting Steed's inevitable remark about the jump.  
  
Steed smiled, seeing her tactic, then his smile faded as he remembered the message he had been given. "Another person has gone missing. This time, it was a young child. A five-year-old girl, named Susanna Starr. She was last seen in front of her town house, and then was seen walking away with a middle-aged man."  
  
Mrs. Peel sighed deeply. "Let's see if we can find anything."  
  
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Steed's car pulled up in front of Susie's house. He and Mrs. Peel quickly jumped out, and started searching around.  
  
"Steed," Mrs. Peel called, coming out from behind the dumpster. She looked sick. "I've found her," she stated, emotionless.  
  
Steed and Mrs. Peel quickly worked to cordon off the area. As they were doing this, A young man, in his twenties, dressed rather conservatively walked up.  
  
"Can I do anything to help you," he asked.  
  
Mrs. Peel looked over at him. "What's your name?"  
  
"James Thompson," the young man eagerly replied. "I'm a doctor."  
  
Steed looked confused, or perhaps that was jealousy. "You're a doctor? How old are you?"  
  
"Twenty-four."  
  
"So how did you get through medical school so quickly," Steed asked suspiciously.  
  
"I was a child prodigy," the youthful stranger quickly replied.  
  
"Can we reach you if we need to ask you anything else," Mrs. Peel asked, diverting Steed's attention from his target.  
  
"Sure thing. Here's my number. You're the bee's knees." The man ran off grinning widely.  
  
"The bee's knees," Steed questioned, totally disgusted.  
  
"It was an expression used in the twenties," Mrs. Peel replied thoughtfully as she watched Mr. Thompson run away. 


	6. Early Fourth Day of Christmas

AN: Sorry it's been so long since I updated. I've been soooo busy. But, to help make up for it, I've made this chapter extra long. (  
  
Mrs. Peel tossed and turned in her bed, nightmarish visions of what had occurred in the previous days filling her mind. She awoke abruptly, gasping for breath, tears filling her eyes. Instinctively, she reached for the white telephone beside her bed, and began dialing Steed's number. But her eye caught the alarm clock beside her bed. It was three thirty. She couldn't disturb Steed at this hour. Let him get his rest. Shuddering, she reached for her bathrobe, and, slipping it on, walked to her kitchen to make some coffee. She'd need it.  
  
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Steed rolled over in his sleep. He was dreaming of a picnic. It was a beautiful sunny day, the temperature perfect; not too hot or cold, and Steed and Mrs. Peel were seated on top of a grassy knoll overlooking a field of wildflowers.  
  
"Have you any champagne," Mrs. Peel questioned. Steed smiled, and opened the picnic basket to reveal enough champagne bottles to stock a wine cellar.  
  
"I'd recommend the '34," he smiled, looking over at Mrs. Peel. But she wasn't there. At least, not the Mrs. Peel he knew and loved. Only a pile of bones remained.  
  
Steed sat straight up in bed. "Emma," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. He reached for the phone beside his bed, and his eye caught the clock. Three thirty. No, he wouldn't disturb her. She needed her sleep. He headed to his kitchen to make his patented hangover cure. Granted, Steed didn't have a hangover, but he could use the jolt.  
  
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Steed walked up to Mrs. Peel's door, hesitating a moment before ringing the bell. It was only eight thirty, and he didn't think she'd be up, but he could wait no longer. He needed to see for himself that his precious Emma, er, Mrs. Peel was still safe and sound.  
  
The door opened, and he saw Emma, pale and withdrawn in a white sweater which only accentuated the shadows under her eyes.  
  
"Steed," she said with relief, "I thought it might have been,"  
  
"The big bad bogey man," Steed completed, trying for some of his old Steed charm. Mrs. Peel faltered, and she put her hand up to her forehead wearily. Steed silently admonished himself for making her feel that way. Each took a deep breath and looked at the other.  
  
"I had a nightmare last night," Mrs. Peel began.  
  
"And you were a skeleton," Steed completed. Both stared at the other.  
  
"I guess that these murders are starting to get to me," Mrs. Peel confessed.  
  
Steed nodded. "How long have you been up," he questioned.  
  
"Three thirty," was the tired response. Steed placed a cushion on the couch and gently pushed Mrs. Peel back, before spreading a blanket over her.  
  
"Rest," he ordered.  
  
Mrs. Peel yawned. A huge gaping yawn that lasted for what seemed to be forever. She snuggled down, and pulled the blanket close. "What about you," she questioned dreamily.  
  
Steed shook his head, the image of Mrs. Peel as a skeleton still fresh in his mind. "I've got some work to do," he replied shortly. It didn't matter. Mrs. Peel was already sound asleep.  
  
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A phone rang, shattering the stillness of the apartment, which was filled with old and decaying objects. An antique teddy bear, missing one of its eyes was sitting on top of a Victrola, which was next to an antique bust of Napoleon. An old man was sleeping in a rocking chair, with a plaid blanket thrown over is legs. At the sound of the telephone, his eyes shot open, and he reached for the source, right next to his chair, on a Louis XV desk.  
  
"Hello," the old man questioned cautiously.  
  
"Mr. Wallace," A youthful voice responded.  
  
"Well," the old man demanded.  
  
"The tests are going superbly. I just need another 'guinea pig,' to make sure the results weren't a fluke."  
  
"How about two," the old man said with a grin, and gave a goulish cackle, before collapsing into a fit of wheezing.  
  
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Mrs. Peel awoke to the ringing of Steed's phone. She opened her eyes to see Steed's back; he was seated on the arm of the sofa, talking.  
  
"All right," Steed said in hushed tones. "I'll be there shortly." He hung up, and turned to look at Mrs. Peel, regret in his eyes. Steed seemed surprised to see her awake.  
  
She sat up and stretched, "Another body?"  
  
"Not quite. A body was stolen from the Morrison Cemetery. That of Mrs. Jane Crane. I'm going to go investigate."  
  
Mrs. Peel threw the cover off of her. "Not without me, you aren't."  
  
"You need your sleep," Steed countered protectively.  
  
"Steed, you got less sleep than me, I suspect. At the least, I have to go with you to prevent you from falling asleep and driving off a cliff. I would never forgive you."  
  
Steed smiled. "Not that there are any cliffs nearby."  
  
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"Hello, I am Mr. James Morrison, owner of Morrison Cemetery. How may I be of assistance?"  
  
Steed took his bowler off to the other gentleman. "I am Mr. John Steed, and this is Mrs. Emma Peel. We're from the Ministry. We're here to investigate the body snatching."  
  
"Oh, yes," the elderly gentleman replied, shaking his head. "Dreadful happening. Mrs. Crane had only been with us for six months."  
  
"Would you mind giving us the address for Mr. Crane," Steed politely asked.  
  
"Certainly, certainly. Just follow me." 


	7. The Fourth Day of Christmans, continued

Mr. Morrison shuffled through his file cabinet. "Crane.Crane." he muttered to himself. "Ah, here we are. Mr. Jonathan Crane-9223 Springfield Lane."  
  
"Thank you," Steed replied, touching his hat.  
  
"If you need anything else," Mr. Morrison hurriedly interjected.  
  
"You'll be the first to know," Steed assured him, before shutting the door behind him.  
  
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"Here we are," Steed said cheerfully. "9223 Springfield Lane."  
  
"Well, then, let's go," Mrs. Peel replied, launching herself over the Bentley's door, and striding purposefully to the door. Halfway there, she turned back. "Well," she questioned. Sputtering, Steed caught up. As Mrs. Peel raised her hand to knock, the door opened. "Oh, um, we were looking for a Mr. Jonathan Crane," she stumbled, caught unawares.  
  
"That's me," a middle-aged slightly balding man stepped out into the light.  
  
"Are you sure," Steed questioned. "We're investigating the 'body- snatching' of a Mrs. Jane Crane."  
  
The man's eyes flickered suspicion. "My aunt," he explained.  
  
"May we talk to your uncle," Steed questioned.  
  
The man's face clouded over. "My uncle is dead."  
  
"Then what about the disappearance of your aunt's body," Mrs. Peel interjected.  
  
"It's all a mistake," Mr. Crane emphatically stated. "My uncle wanted his wife to be buried next to him in our ancestral home."  
  
"But," Mrs. Peel tried to speak, but the door slammed into her face.  
  
"Friendly chap, isn't he," Steed gestured to the offending door.  
  
Mrs. Peel shrugged, and turned to walk back to the Bentley. The car phone rang, and she rushed to pick it up.  
  
AN: Who's on the phone?!?! Is it another murder?!?! Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I'll try to update more. Promise. 


	8. Late Fourth DayFifth Day of Christmas

"Hello? Yes.we'll be right there." Mrs. Peel quickly hung up. "Steed, there's been two more killings," she gasped.  
  
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The Bentley pulled up to a small alley. Steed got out and very gallantly held his hand out to help Mrs. Peel down. She ignored it completely and walked ahead without waiting for him.  
  
"Steed," she called. "Here they are."  
  
A hand touched her shoulder. Mrs. Peel reached her hand up and took the hand, not removing he eyes from the grisly scene.  
  
"Mrs. Peel," Steed said gently. She turned to look at him, only to realize that it wasn't Steed's hand on her shoulder, but that of James Thompson.  
  
"Mr. Thompson," she drew away.  
  
"I'm terribly sorry," the young doctor told her. "I thought you knew it was me." Steed bristled at this obvious attempt to gain Mrs. Peel's affection. "How many does this make?"  
  
"Five," Steed answered. "Now I think Mrs. Peel needs some rest." He gently led her away. Thompson turned to watch them go.  
  
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Steed dropped Mrs. Peel off at her flat. "I'll pick you up tomorrow," he told her.  
  
Mrs. Peel nodded drearily and went inside. She made herself a cup of coffee and sat wearily down. What could those five victims have in common with each other? She shook her head wearily and went to work on her modern art sculpture.  
  
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"Well," a deep voice questioned.  
  
"Well what," a younger voice answered.  
  
"Can it be done?"  
  
"Well, my research is only at the theoretical stage. I mean, living people are one thing-"  
  
"Can it be done," the voice cut him off sharply.  
  
The young man hesitated a moment before quickly answering. "Yes."  
  
"Good. The body will be delivered to you tomorrow. If all goes according to planned, you'll be getting a hefty bonus. If not." the voice drifted off.  
  
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Steed raised his hand to ring Mrs. Peel's doorbell, but before he could, the door opened, revealing Mrs. Peel, resplendent in a blue stretch suit with magenta stripes up the side.  
  
"Come on in, Steed," she smiled, turning away from the door. "I've fixed your favorite for breakfast." She motioned for Steed to sit down and walked into her kitchen, returning a moment later with a tray piled high with food. "Actually I couldn't sleep, so I fixed everything." She started to hand Steed a napkin, but recoiled in fear when she saw the hand, or rather the lack of hand. There was a skeleton sitting on her sofa!  
  
"What have you done with Steed," Mrs. Peel asked quietly, her voice trembling.  
  
If skeletons could have looked concerned, this one would have. "Mrs. Peel, I am Steed." Mrs. Peel shook her head and backed up stumbling over the coffee table. The skeleton bent over her.  
  
Mrs. Peel awoke with a gasp. She sighed and got out of bed. She wasn't going to get back to sleep anytime tonight.  
  
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Steed rang the doorbell to Mrs. Peels flat. Before the tones had died away, the door was opened. Mrs. Peel was standing in the doorway in a green stretch suit.  
  
"Good morning my dear," Steed greeted her. "And how are you on this fine wintery morning? The temperature outside is a brisk two degrees centigrade and flurries are expected later in the day-"  
  
Mrs. Peel backed away from the door, rolling her eyes, "What did you find out," she cut him off.  
  
"Well, I can hardly be expected to remember everything without even a-"  
  
"Cup of coffee, brewed fresh this morning? Or perhaps you'd prefer a glass of chilled champagne, or maybe your patented national anthem?" Mrs. Peel stepped back, revealing a tray with all three on it. She smiled with delight at having outwitted Steed.  
  
"I'll take the coffee," Steed replied, a bit annoyed. "The last two victims were twins. Dora and Davy Jones, age fifteen."  
  
"Was there-"  
  
"Anything linking all of the victims together?" This time Steed smiled. "The only thing that all of the victims had in common was that they were all under twenty-one.  
  
"Well that leaves you and me out of the ring," Mrs. Peel quipped.  
  
"I think we should go visit Mr. Crane again," Steed suggested.  
  
"All right," Mrs. Peel shrugged. "maybe he'll be more amiable today." She stopped at the closet to get her favorite fur coat and walked out of her flat.  
  
Steed started to follow her, then stopped, and looked at something. "Mrs. Peel," he called after her, hurrying to catch up. "have you been working on your sculpture?"  
  
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Steed's Bentley pulled up once again at Crane's house. Steed jumped out, then ran around and opened Mrs. Peel's door for her. She ignored him and looked up at the house.  
  
"Someone has certainly been busy," she remarked. The house, which had been dingy and badly in need of repair was freshly painted and restoration was evident. Before they could walk to the front door, ti opened, and a young man, carrying a box full of tools came out.  
  
"May I help you?" His voice was friendly, but cautious.  
  
"We're looking for a Mr. Jonathan Crane," Steed informed him.  
  
"That's me. Except my friends call me Jon."  
  
Mrs. Peel and Steed exchanged glances. "But last week when we were here," Mrs. Peel protested.  
  
"My uncle moved," the man explained.  
  
A young woman came out, carrying a mug of hot cocoa. "here Jon, I thought you'd need," She paused as she saw Steed and Mrs. Peel. "I didn't realize we had visitors.  
  
"I'm Mrs. Emma Peel," she said extending her hand. "And you are?"  
  
"Mrs. Jane Crane."  
  
"As I was telling you earlier," the young man interrupted determinedly, "My uncle has moved. If you are looking for nothing else, I suggest you leave."  
  
Mrs. Peel and Steed bowed to the man's request. 


	9. Sixth Day of Christmas

"That was certainly strange," Mrs. Peel remarked as she climbed back into the Bentley.  
  
"Yes," Steed agreed. "I wonder why the elder Mr. Crane decided to move."  
  
"Perhaps he was only staying there until his nephew could come. Or perhaps he thought that he would inherit the house but it was left to his nephew instead," Mrs. Peel pondered.  
  
"Are you that close to your aunt's aunt," Steed jokingly inquired.  
  
"Not at all," Mrs. Peel replied.  
  
"I suggest we keep a close eye on these Cranes."  
  
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Ding dong. The man got up, rubbing his eyes. He glanced at the clock: 2:30. Why should anyone be visiting him at this late hour. Nevertheless he rose and began walking towards the door. Before he could reach it, the doorbell rang again.  
  
"Wait one bloody minute, you-" The words died away in his mouth as the man looked out the door. A man was there, but his face was in shadows. "Oh. It's you. Well, come in." He stood back from the door, but the man made no move.  
  
"I prefer to talk right here," He explained. "How did your testing go?"  
  
"Perfectly," he began excitedly. "I've discovered that I can not only age people, but reverse the aging process, to the point where I can bring people back from the dead. Unfortunately, it only seems to work if the people have been dead for less than a year."  
  
"You promised me that you would be able to bring my wife back."  
  
"I'm sure it will only take a little more research."  
  
The man in the shadows did not seem convinced. "May I see this 'weapon'?"  
  
"Be careful," the other warned as he handed him the 'gun.' You point it at a person, pull the trigger, and bam, they're a pile of dust."  
  
"Interesting." The gun was pointed at the man inside. "I don't tolerate failure, Mr. Harrison." He pulled the trigger. Mr. Harrison was reduced to a pile of bones. An evil laugh rang through the air.  
  
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Mrs. Peel hadn't slept well the night before. Although she hadn't had her usual skeleton dream, she had dreamt that the young Mr. Crane had turned older and older, cackling at her all the while, and telling her that he was her beau. The phone rang, disrupting her thoughts.  
  
"Mrs. Peel?"  
  
"Has there been another murder?" Mrs. Peel was instantly awake, gripping the phone in her hand.  
  
"Unfortunately, yes. Number six is a man named Mr. George Harrison. He was killed between midnight last night, when his landlady saw him, and six this morning when he didn't leave for work."  
  
"Why don't you come over here? Unless there is something unusual about Mr. Harrison, I don't think there's any use in going to the crime scene."  
  
"Mr. Harrison was a scientist. According to his notes, he was working on an aging device which would be able to bring people back to the dead, or age them quickly."  
  
Mrs. Peel sat straight up. "Do you happen to have those notes on you?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, I do. And, I should be at your flat in fifteen minutes."  
  
Mrs. Peel paused. "Steed, where are you calling from?"  
  
Steed smirked. "My car phone. Just had it installed yesterday." He hung up, leaving Mrs. Peel speechless.  
  
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"Good morning, Mrs. Peel," Steed grimly greeted her. "I'm afraid our hypothesis is entirely wrong. George Harrison was thirty five years old. Our mastermind isn't sticking to minors any more."  
  
Mrs. Peel sighed and leafed through the manilla envelopes Steed handed her. "Steed, these are very complicated mathematical figures. There are only about ten people in the world who understand these."  
  
"And you're one of them, my dear?" Mrs. Peel nodded. "I knew I picked you as a partner for a reason." Mrs. Peel smiled absently. "So?"  
  
"Well, from what I can make out, Mr. Harrison actually managed to make this machine."  
  
"If he managed to make it, why wasn't the machine at his house?"  
  
"Someone must have stolen it," Mrs. Peel replied. "I wonder if Mr. Harrison had a financial backer. Medical experiments like this are very expensive,"  
  
Steed completed the sentence, "And Mr. Harrison wasn't independently wealthy."  
  
AN: Yay!!! No more writer's block!!!! 


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